


toying somewhere between love and abuse

by death_of_romeo



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 12:23:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3488150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/death_of_romeo/pseuds/death_of_romeo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love, you think, is a lot like war.</p>
<p>You have known nothing but war for so long. You are conditioned, by now, to think of it as home. Fighting, defending, trying to act as though everything will turn out alright in the end.</p>
<p>Love, you think, is a lot like war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	toying somewhere between love and abuse

**Author's Note:**

> ((Originally posted on tumblr.))

The first night with him will always remind you of a fire fight, except no guns were involved. Only knives. You have a strange affinity for things that will cause you harm, and you think that maybe, that is why you are attracted to him. Maybe it is the danger involved that makes you gravitate towards him like a lost puppy or a stray kitten.

Maybe it is his smirk. Maybe it is his laugh, sounding far too much like murder and deceit, but you are used to that by now. You are used to the dark intentions behind his smile, and you find comfort in this. The darkness cannot lie, the darkness cannot cover up its tracks with promises fulfilled or confessions of truth and admiration. The darkness is raw. Simple. It cannot lie, and yet you lie with him in bed each chance that you get.

You think, maybe, that it will heal you. Fix you. Somehow, some way, you think that this little taste of something a little too sweet will mend every wrong that you have done. Or, at the very least, it will make you forget. For a little while.

He tastes like cherry wine. He is sweet, and yet you know to not believe it.

He is bitter, and he is bitter about something that you know very little about.

You do not ask him to explain. You never do.

The second night with him will always remind you of revenge, for no other reason than you coming back for that which you did not get the time before. You have never once longed for someone else’s body this much, you have never once longed for the physicality of love, and you blame him completely for this.

He loves with his entire body. He has to touch you, to hear you, to feel you struggling, fighting back. He has to know that you are not giving up, and you have never known this in a lover before. You have never known love to be so violent, so full of degradation and humiliation.

You have never known love to be like war, and yet here you are, fighting with him again.

You have lost track of how many battles have been waged in this war, and yet, you know that it does not matter.  You know that this war will never end, not until one of you gives up, and you have never known him to give up.

This war will only end in death.

You think, offhandedly, that this sounds a lot like a proposal. This sounds a lot like ‘til death do us part, and you smile, just a little, as this thought fades in, then out.

Love, you think, is a lot like war. 


End file.
